


Civil Serpent

by Brokenjaw (Vrael)



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Closet Fondling, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Queen of Hell Chloe, Self Actualizing Chloe, Snakes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrael/pseuds/Brokenjaw
Summary: ser·pent/ˈsərpənt/Noun.1. a large snake.2. a sly or treacherous person, especially one who exploits a position of trust in order to betray it.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 20
Kudos: 148
Collections: Filii Hircus: WIP It Good





	Civil Serpent

It starts like anything else starts. Small.

It’s a patch of skin no larger than a mosquito bite on the back of her hand, and it itches like a motherfucker. It's raw and peeling, but not quite painful, even though she's picked at it over and over like an anxious teen. The responsible part of Chloe already dumped half a tube of Cortizone 10 on the spot, and it’s not even noon yet.

“Chloe-“ 

Her phone is off, and she’s strategically working away from her desk, but somehow, somehow, Lucifer’s found her, like some sort of supernatural bloodhound. He has her cornered in a forgotten conference room who’s shades are perpetually slotted shut. His tall frame blocks the only exit. So much for avoiding the Devil today. 

“Chloe,” he says her name again, and he only says her name when he’s deadly serious. “Was it something I said?”

She paws at the back of her hand again, but otherwise ignores him. The itching isn’t stopping, but she tries to focus on the case file in front of her. 

“I’m not good at this sort of thing.” Lucifer makes an expansive gesture. “Relationships. I'm quite frankly, bloody garbage. So if I muck it up, I need you to tell me.”

Chloe snaps the file shut, and looks at him. The Devil is disheveled, with his slicked back hair loose and curly like he’s been pulling at it. His suit jacket is left forgotten somewhere, and the silk shirt underneath is uncharacteristically rumpled. She can see the set of his muscles shaking with desperation. It’s not like him to be riled up this fast, but things have changed since his time in Hell. He’s changed and so has she.

He’s still handsome, though, for all of his wrinkles. All golden skin and loose limbed grace. Smooth as the baseline of a song, and just as moving. 

Lucifer considers her in return and slides a coffee mug across the long table. A black mug, emblazoned with “ _ Not today Satan _ ” across its side. She can smell it's the good stuff. The stuff Lucifer makes with his fussy little French Press that he hides in her lower filing cabinet, next to his coke stash. 

“Detective, please-“

But Chloe cuts him off at the pass, leaving his offering in limbo. “When were you going to tell me that I’m your consort?”

“I-“ He sputters, reeling backwards.

“And why did I have to hear it, secondhand, at a bar, from Maze?” 

Chloe can still taste the sharpness of cheap tequila. Maze’s grin like a slanted price of broken glass. Ever since Eve left, Maze is even more unbalanced. Just as keen to cut as to coddle in her own demonic way. She’s brittle, but her words are vicious all the same. The  _ ‘Oh, apologies, your majesty,’ _ and the  _ ‘Anything you say, Queenie _ ,’ are the softer of her recent endearments. 

Lucifer shakes his head. “I thought you knew?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Chloe hisses. “You might not be able to lie, but that is one hell of a fucking fib.”

He frowns, incredulous. “I thought you knew there could be no others. You’ve accepted my affections. What else could you possibly be?”

“I don’t know, maybe girlfriend? Significant other? Partner? Fuck-buddy? The list goes on.” Chloe squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn’t have to look at him. “Why couldn’t Eve be your consort? Or Candy? Or any of the other men and women who participated in the nonstop bed parades?” She takes a breath. “Or Hell, why not Maze?”

The silence is so loud that she can’t hear anything else. Not her heartbeat. Not her breath. Lucifer is so still that not even the fabric of his clothes rustle. 

“Are you saying you don’t want to be with me anymore?” He asks, his voice unsteady.

And the face he makes, it’s like she had just reached into his chest cavity and yanked his heart out. Chloe can practically taste the quiet panic of his pulse. She finds she hates it, and hates herself for making him doubt her. 

And just like that, all her anger lays itself down at his feet, like a plastic play-weapon to be simply tossed aside. Hollow, cheap and childish. 

“No, Lucifer.” Chloe says gently. “I just don’t understand. I need you to explain this to me. Please.”

He swallows thickly and nods. “I am the King of Hell. A monarch. When a monarch chooses an equal, that person is their consort, their co-regent, their Queen. Or King, I suppose.”

“I know the definition, Lucifer, but why me? Out of millions of years, thousands of people- angels, humans, demons. Why me?”

She thinks of the vast swathes of humanity, of creatures heaven-bound and below, and how little she matters in such a tsunami of life and death and eternity. He’s probably had more carnal experiences than stars in the sky. She’s probably even grouped in the lesser of these; a white dwarf among supergiants.

“Why  _ not _ you? Chloe-“ He quickly rounds the table and grabs the chair next to hers, plopping into the seat. “Perhaps I’ve gone about this all wrong. I’ve put the cart before the horse so to speak. Let me take you to dinner, hm? There’s a lovely little Korean place by Echo Lake I’ve been dying to show you.”

When Lucifer finally turns to her, his eyes burn black like asphalt and butterscotch. Earth and obsidian. His gaze is the dark, quiet space between lightning and thunder.

When he looks at her that way, she’s stripped away layer by layer, and year by year. Chloe Decker forgets all of the pain, the betrayal, and the fear she’s experienced in her long life- and just sees him. This creature that is spun sugar and starlight and molten iron that loves her. Impossible, and impossible to look at for very long.

She glances back down at the table, and Lucifer snatches away the file and replaces it with his palm. She can feel the light callouses there, memories from heaven and hell. They rasp against her skin, gentle and warm and comforting. It’s only natural she relaxes into it a little. Only natural that she caresses back. But Lucifer smiles anyway, as if she had just gifted him an entire galaxy. 

“Darling, I do believe the good Doctor is getting to me,” he murmurs. “But maybe, just maybe it's time for a bit of heart to heart. We haven’t really done that since my little business trip, have we?”

They haven’t. Not really. Between cases, and Trixie, and Charlie, and obligations - they both were so focused on getting back to normal, that they never really explored what normal meant. This whole going back to the way things were with sex on top isn’t the way to go and maybe Lucifer’s right. Maybe they should talk about it. 

Chloe’s almost offended that he’s out-adulted her.

Lucifer bats his long lashes and his face closes in. He’s gliding dangerously into her orbit. Criminally soft lips are only inches from her own, pleading. His other hand glides up the edge of her thigh like a brand.

“Please?” he whispers.

But suddenly, the conference room door bursts open, all loud voices and careening laughter. A noisy and unexpected company.

“Oh!” Ella says, paused awkwardly in a mid-step. “Uh, we weren’t expecting this room to be ocupado.”

Dan shifts behind her, looking even more off-kilter. There’s a flush across his cheekbones, and Chloe realizes a bit too late what this must look like.

Lucifer, however, doesn’t seem interested in what their coworkers think. He gently takes her hand and lifts it to his mouth for a brief, chaste kiss. His mouth is so hot on her knuckle that she aches down to the bone.

“It’s alright. We were just leaving,” Lucifer says, removing his lips. “And Detective?”

“Yes?” 

“I’ll text you.” His grin is a bit lopsided, but she can’t help but smile back. He pulls away and makes for the exit, brushing back his hair as he goes. 

Chloe, in return, dutifully gathers up her paperwork to make space for Dan and Ella. Photos are tucked away into their respective folders, and Lucifer’s coffee offering is accepted with reverence into her open palm. 

She’s about to head back to her desk when her ex-husband stops her. 

“Chloe,” Dan says, pointing at the flaking patch of skin near her wrist. “ You should really get that looked at.”

“It’s nothing,” she replies, brushing past him. “Really. It’s just a rash.”

* * *

Chloe doesn’t eat her salad at lunch, even though she packed it herself that morning. It has everything she likes: goat cheese, arugula, jammy charred tomatoes, and a balsamic vinaigrette. The smell from the Tupperware container just seemed… off. Dirt-like and sour. Maybe the cheese went bad. Maybe she didn't wash the greens well enough.

But Chloe’s still ravenous, however. She’s even tempted to dig through the cabinets for some half-forgotten morsel to steal. Unfortunately, she’s better than that, if only by just a little. No pudding thievery for her. Or cereal. Or any of the other things her coworkers have hidden in their cubbyholes. 

Instead she’s sitting at the break-room table flicking through delivery options on her phone with her left hand. The spot on her right one has gotten larger. Large enough she’s taken a rubber glove from forensics to hide it. It's becoming difficult to stop her own nails from tearing at her skin. 

“Chloe,” Dan takes a seat across from her. “What’s up with you? I saw you this morning. You and Lucifer. Somethings bothering you, and it's not just a rash.”

She considers her ex-husband. Well meaning, but paternal as always. On some level he will always look at her as someone weaker, someone who needs coddling. Just as he will always see himself from a position of strength. As someone who has strength left to give. 

Chloe snorts. “Nothings wrong, and if it was, I’m not sure if it's any of your business.”

“Ouch,” he laughs. “But really Chlo, you know you can talk to me right? And it doesn’t even have to be me, but maybe you should talk to someone, yeah?”

Chloe misses him sometimes. The way Dan makes things so simple. No red or yellow tape. Just ones and zeros. He’s here and to him that feels like enough. And maybe it is, maybe the reason why they divorced was just because he just wasn't enough for her. She placed herself on a pedestal too hard to reach, and he can’t be at fault for that. Especially when he tries to reach her anyway. 

“What did it feel like to fall in love with me?” Chloe asks finally. “How were you so sure I was the one?”

“Ha! That's an easy one. You were just you, you know?”

She huffs, shaking her head. “So articulate, Daniel Espinoza. So poetic.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. But honestly, it was hard for me to imagine a life without you, and honestly it still is. I'm glad you’re still here, even after everything,” he admits. “Is this about Lucifer?”

“Maybe.”

“He might be a basket case, but I’ve seen how the guy looks at you. You’re his entire world, Chlo.”

“But  _ why _ is the question.”

“Well, you’re smart. And dedicated. And beautiful-” He makes a face then, halfway between a smile and a wince. “And you two have a lot in common. I mean come on, think about it.”

And what does she, Chloe Jane Decker, share with the Devil himself? 

Well, her heart stops at thought. 

Dan looks down at his phone. “Ugh. I gotta go. But listen, you might not be perfect for each-other a hundred percent, and I cant believe Im saying this, but maybe you should give him a chance. If he makes you happy, what have you got to lose?”

  
  
  
  


Chloe ends up ordering a steak. Rare and red and bleeding. 

* * *

Lucifer doesn’t text her.

At 3pm he yanks her into the supply closet. 

“I thought we were going to talk later,” she says panting. Her neck is slicked with sweat. 

“We will. We are. Just not now,” Lucifer’s mouth curves into a wicked slice against her cheek. “How about we see how quiet we can be, hm?”

His voice is a thrum of an acoustic guitar, bluesy and deep. If she didn't know better, he’s sad. If she didn't know better, something beneath his immaculate suit seethes. There's a violence she doesn't see, or hear. Rather, it’s felt. It echos and roils just under the surface. In her mind's eye she sees a great dark lake, placid and teeming with life all the same. 

The Devil’s heart hammers far too loud against the curve of her spine. 

“But-”

“Later,” and his hand is gentle at her throat and his breath smells like whiskey. She leans into him, sighing. 

His calloused palm makes its way up her shirt, sliding under her bra, His fingers rasp against a nipple, and her mouth finds his. He tastes like salt. And he shouldn’t. 

Chloe doesn't comment. 

Instead she takes his hand and glides it down the soft expanse of her belly. Down, down and down, until it hooks at the button of her jeans. He’s warm, so warm that it's intoxicating. Every touch leaves her positively addicted. She didn't realize how cold she was before now. He’s a thaw after a long time spent out in the snow. A space heater she could curl up into, as if she were a cat. 

Lucifer’s hand travels lower, straight to her sweet spot and he groans into her shoulder. Her blouse muffles the sound, but not the vibration. She's already wet for him, so wet. She shimmies down her pants, letting Lucifer have deeper access. His lips almost burn against her throat, biting, sucking, and worshiping. Every exhale caresses the underside of her jaw. 

He delves deeper, his thumb swipes circles around her clit. And Lucifer’s the loud one. A whimper hisses out through his teeth. She grabs his thighs from behind, grinding against length. 

The whole of him melts around her, and she's lost, so lost between hands and lips and teeth. 

It doesn't take long for him to find her release, even when they’re tangled against a mop and a couple buckets of paint. When she crumbles, listless into his arms, he sighs as if he were the one satisfied. 

“Oh, Chloe-” Lucifer says, like a gasp, like he’s wounded. “It could only be you. Only you.”

And she believes him, she really does. Lucifer loves her. He’s said it through words, and deeds, and thoughts. That is not what she doubts. Still, there's an uneasiness in her bones.

Still, something doesn’t sit right. 

Still, her convictions sour.

Because Chloe realizes the problem isn't his devotion. It's hers. 

It shouldn’t be so easy to love him. It really shouldn’t. Not like this. Not with her entire being. Not when he’s the Devil. The great Adversary of humanity, and of goodness, and God.

And certainly she's not supposed to love in a supply closet. 

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work, but I'll be damned before I am sentenced to purgatory ;). For the FH, WIP posting challenge. This has been sitting for a bit in my google docs so... I now inflict it upon you all.


End file.
